


Better Not

by SweetsAndTreats



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Season 4 Spoilers, Sleep Deprivation, Small bit of angst, basiras not even an avatar of beholding and still she knows more than these two hopeless idiots, martin's a hopeless romantic and jon's a clueless grump, season 4 but make it so that Martin's around more, semi-omnipotence/mind reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetsAndTreats/pseuds/SweetsAndTreats
Summary: In an attempt to pull Jon away from his work and take a break for once, Martin manages to drag him out to a small park. Trying to fill the awkward quiet, Martin persuades Jon to “brain google” some useless trivia, just for fun. This ends up including some of the passing thoughts of people walking by them on the street. Jon is begrudgingly willing to play along at first, but after a while finds he’s genuinely enjoying himself. Things actually seem to be going rather smoothly for a change, until Jon begins to lose himself in reading the thoughts of others, and unwittingly manages to lock onto Martin’s own internal dialogue.Which is a bit of an issue, as the only thing that Martin's been thinking about for a good while now is how incredibly attractive Jon's smile is.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 181





	Better Not

“Knock knock,” Basira said blandly, walking into Jon’s office without waiting for a response. He heard the chair in the corner of his office scrape as she slid it across the floor, creaking as she situated herself across the desk from him.

“You know, I used to hate people who came into a room like that. Either knock or just walk in and stop wasting everyone’s time. I have no idea why I’ve started doing it, honestly.” Basira sighed. “Maybe just trying to add some sense of corniness to all this freaky stuff. Dunno.”

Jon didn’t look up from the statement he’d been thumbing through.

Something about some “haunted” church that he was mostly sure was a prank. He could always check, he supposed. Could just Know if it was legitimate or not. But it...sort of felt better to sit there and be only  _ mostly _ sure of something instead of running a quick brain fact check, only to accidentally find out the statement giver’s pet hamster had recently died. Or something equally useless.

It transferred to digital just fine anyway, so there was his answer, he supposed.

“So are you just going to keep reading, then?” Basira began suddenly. “That’s fine, I can wait. Guess a lunch break doesn’t have too much meaning anyways when your only real job is lazing around.” Basira shifted in her seat, crossing one leg on top of the other.

Her apathetic tone did a good job of hiding it, but she was actually a bit irritated Jon hadn’t even taken the time to glance up from whatever “important spooky business” he was attending. Well, wasn’t like she had anything better to do than occupy a poorly-lit office anyways, seeing as Daisy wasn’t in today and she’d gotten a bit tired of the book she’d been reading.

Jon shook his head, setting the statement back down on his desk for the first time in nearly an hour. “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing up at Basira half a moment.

Jon tried his best not to pry in his colleagues’ heads, he really did. But sometimes he wouldn’t be paying close enough attention, and it was almost too easy to blur the line between where his thoughts ended and another’s began.

“S’fine. Knew you’d have to notice someone else was in the room with you eventually.” Basira seemed to think the apology was for ignoring her, apparently, but Jon wasn’t about to correct her.

“Good afternoon, Basira,” he greeted her, the words coming out in a winded huff. “Did you need something?” She did. But it was polite to ask anyways.

“Nah, nothing really. Just got bored, figured you’d be in here droning on about some boogeyman or whatever. Thought I’d stop in, say hi,” she shrugged, letting her shoulders fall against the back of the chair. Her gaze drifted to a stack of filing cabinets in the corner of the room. “Oh yeah. Hi Jon.”

“Hello, Basira,” Jon said, another withering sigh escaping his lips. “Is there anything else you needed from me? I’m a bit busy.”

She eyed the statements sat on his desk with guarded skepticism, not believing whatever he was working on could really be all that important if he didn’t have one of those obnoxious tape recorders running somewhere. She was right, of course. It wasn’t.

“Yeah,” she said finally, leaning back in the chair again and locking eyes with Jon. “Martin’s been looking for you. Said he wanted to ‘force you to take your lunch break’ or something. I told him he’d find you here, but for some reason he was convinced you were in the library. Don’t know why, you’ve been practically living down here past few months.” Another shrug, followed by a small, self-satisfied smirk. “It’ll be kinda funny when he rushes in here, all out of breath and red-faced, to find that I’ve been sitting across from you the whole time he was running around the institute.”

“Oh god, not this again,” Jon bemoaned quietly, sinking back in his own chair and pressing the knuckles of one hand to his temple.

“What,” Basira chuckled, “he been forcing you to take too many breaks?”

“Exactly. It’s distracting.”

“Figures you’d think that. Honestly, I’m really not sure how you manage to keep going without collapsing, most days. That eyeball of yours let you get away without sleeping or something?” A distracted look crossed Basira’s face briefly. “Actually, doesn’t matter, none of my business.”

“I still sleep,” Jon retorted, crossing his arms pointedly over his chest. “What do you think the cot in the other room is for anyway? To take up space?”

“Alright then, genius, when’s the last time you took a nap, hmm?” She gave him a slightly accusing look, staring down her nose at him.

Jon opened his mouth to respond but had to pause a moment, trying to think back on when he’d last actually taken the time to lie down and sleep. Much longer than could be considered normal, definitely. It was hard to keep track of time, down in the basement of the institute, so it must have been…

“I took a nap this morning, at my desk.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Then...maybe two...three days? Tops?” He offered a half-shrug.

Basira shook her head. “I see why Martin seemed so put out about getting you to go on your break. You’ll run yourself into the ground at this rate.”

“I can’t imagine why, as it’s none of his concern,” Jon snapped. The words felt too sharp, too accusing on his tongue. It was...he knew Martin cared. And that mattered to him, it really did. He was just a bit short-tempered at the moment. Probably from the back-to-back all-nighters. 

Maybe he could get some coffee.

“He cares about you, ya know. A lot.” Basira began picking absent-mindedly at her thumbnail. “That’s the only reason he puts up with your shit more than the rest of us. You should count yourself lucky you’ve got someone in your life like that. Like I’m lucky having Daisy. People like that...you don’t want to let them slip through the cracks by giving them a hard time.” She stopped at that, expression clouding over, momentarily lost in thought. It took more restraint than Jon would like to admit to keep out of her private reverie.

Basira snapped out of it suddenly, looking back at Jon. “Just give him a chance for me, yeah?”

“Look, Basira...I know he means well--I just--” Jon exhaled loudly through his nose, leaning forward on his desk, hands steepled. “I’m very  _ busy _ at the moment. I still have loads of statements to go through today.”

Basira snorted, unimpressed. “Really, Jon. Let yourself give it a rest every once in a while. Besides, what’s so important it can’t wait an hour or two anyway?” She leaned forward, grabbing several pages of the statement off his desk. He shot Basira a glare, but that didn’t stop her from flipping through the messy stack of papers anyway. “Something about a  _ ghost _ priest? Oh come on Jon, do I even need to say it?”

He opened his mouth, ready to make a sharp retort that yes,  _ maybe _ they’d well moved past  _ ghost priests _ by this point but it was still  _ technically _ his job to read through  _ every _ statement, thank you very much. He was cut off though, by a loud crashing sound that filtered through the open door of his office from somewhere down the hall, towards the stairs that led out of the archives.

Basira fluidly turned to face the door, expression blank. “And there would be Martin.” With a sharp breath in, she rose to her feet. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it, then.” Basira lightly kicked her chair back in the general direction of the corner she’d taken it from. “See you around, then.”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Basira had just made it into the hallway as Martin stumbled into view, looking a bit rumpled.

“Basira?” he gave her a funny look. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged with the faintest hints of a smile. “Finding Jon before you. Told you he’d be in here.”

“Right…”

“Anyway,” she said, clapping Martin on the shoulder as she passed him, “I’ll leave you boys alone then. Wouldn’t want to intrude on anything.” Her expression was oddly knowing as she said this, and Martin seemed to pale a bit.

“ _ Goodbye _ Basira,” Martin said sternly, to which she only chuckled, before slouching back down the hall. Martin let out a long, winded huff, leaning against the doorframe for support. His eyes were shut lightly, and his cheeks were slightly flushed: likely from running all the way up to the library and back down again.

Flinching, Martin looked up at Jon apologetically, apparently just then remembering what he’d come down here for in the first place. He hesitated in the doorway another moment, before slowly walking across the threshold into the office. Martin stood across from Jon’s desk, twisting his hands together distractingly.

“Hi, Jon,” he said.

“Hello, Martin,” he sighed, biting his tongue to keep from saying any more. He really wasn’t in the mood to pointlessly beat around the bush today. He had far too much work to do.

But...Martin wouldn’t appreciate it if he was short with him. Jon was determined to at least hear the man out.

“How’s your day been?” Martin tried amiably.

“Busy,” Jon answered honestly with a long sigh, slumping forward on his desk. Having broken his focus, exhaustion was slowly beginning to creep back into his system. “Or at least, I’m trying to be. Distractions seem to keep finding their way into my office.”

“O-oh, sorry, am I--”

“You’re fine, Martin,” Jon interrupted, sending him a look that he hoped was comforting. “My concentration was broken long before you stopped by. It’s...fine. It doesn’t take much for me to get back on track, thankfully.”

“Right, right...actually, well, about that...I just wanted to ask if, um...would you...have you taken your lunch break yet, today?” he finally settled on.

Jon knew exactly where this was going, so he hoped he didn’t sound too put out when he hissed a quiet “No.”

“You should,” Martin countered immediately, expression firming, “You’ve been sat in here staring at documents for far too long, Jon. Practically no one saw you come out of here yesterday. Or this morning.”

Jon couldn’t find it in him to offer up any sort of protest, so he just shrugged.

Martin took this as a cue to continue, worry etched firmly into his face. “This can’t be very good for your eyesight either, with all these dim lights. And I know for a fact you haven’t eaten any real food today. Which is to say, well, you should probably...” Martin quieted as he began to fumble, took a deep breath, and began again with much more certainty. “Jon, you are going to take a lunch break today and give yourself a rest for once.”

“Martin, I appreciate the thought. I do. But I really--”

“Nope, I don’t care, the archives can wait one hour, can’t they? You won’t be useful to anyone if you keep holing up in here like some sort of hermit and overworking yourself.”

“Martin,” Jon said around a long, heavy sigh.

“Jon, don’t with the--the sighing and the grumpiness. Just, don’t. I’m only saying this because I’m _worried_ about you, you know. And--and so help me, I am going to _make_ you go up those stairs and into some real sunlight if I have to carry your chair up with you in it,” Martin paused, a mixed look of curiosity and hesitance crossing his face. “When was the last time you went outside, anyway? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sleeping in the side room.”

“A...while ago. But Martin, listen, you really shouldn’t bother. I’m fine down here, I’ll just--”

“Come on. One hour, in the park down the street, with me. I’ll keep you sixty minutes, no longer. Seems more than reasonable to me. And then I’ll let you crawl right back down here and go back to...statements? You mostly do statements these days, don’t you?”

Jon opened his mouth to brush Martin off, to make his excuses about mountains of files and unorganized statements. But just before he’d gotten the words out, he stopped. “You...said one hour? And then you’ll leave me alone to get my work done if I do that?”

“Sure, if that’s what’ll get you out of the archives.”

“Fine,” Jon relented, rising slowly from his desk chair.

“Wait, really?” Then, to himself with a small chuckle, “That was more painless than I’d thought it was going to be.”

Jon stretched his arms out in front of him, pins and needles running up and down his limbs after having been seated for so long. “Don’t act so surprised. I’m capable of pulling myself away from my work...every now and then.”

Martin snorted. “Sure, right. If I ever see you taking breaks on your own, excuse me if I try blockading you in your office because I think there’s something  _ supernatural _ going on.”

“Please, never do that,” Jon sighed, making a half-hearted attempt to stack the papers he’d been going through in an almost-neat pile. He gave up rather quickly, instead rounding his desk and standing a bit awkwardly next to the open door. “Well, we’d better get this over with then. After you,” Jon gestured out towards the hall.

“Oh, ah, right.” Martin shuffled past him, fidgeting while Jon quickly locked up his office. “So, when does my hour start?” he asked, following Jon up the stairs.

“About half a minute ago,” Jon said, checking his watch. “I’ll let you know when your time’s up.”

Martin let out a long sigh. “You know, you could just let yourself  _ enjoy _ something for once? Hm? Do something that  _ doesn’t _ revolve around work or the institute or any of that?”

“Hmm. Pass.”

“C’mon. At least  _ pretend _ I’m not forcing you to come along, will you?”

“But you  _ are _ forcing me--”

“Yes, yes, I know! I know,” Martin turned away, hiding a pout.

They pressed out the front doors of the institute and into the bright, afternoon sun. Jon squinted, retinas burning from the sudden exposure. Lord, maybe he did have a problem.

Martin seemed to know where he was going, at least, as he immediately took off in a direction, so Jon opted to follow him. After about a block of silent walking, Martin began to noticeably fidget. “You could have turned me down, you know. I wouldn’t have pushed too hard,” he said, not quite meeting Jon in the eye.

Jon hummed to himself, staring up at the sky. “I figured. But I...you aren’t wrong. I know that sometimes I can get...wrapped up in things--”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Martin quipped.

Jon shot him a look, continuing smoothly past the interruption, “I end up getting so absorbed. In--In balancing whatever work I have at the Institute with whatever new terror’s decided to play monster of the week, or just--all of it.

“Narrow-sighted, is probably the best word for it. Putting all my focus into one thing. I tend to, erm, lose track of things more often these days.” He sighed, casting his gaze towards the pavement and running a hand lightly through his hair. “I mean, I haven’t actually properly slept in several days. Which...probably isn’t the healthiest? As Basira so helpfully pointed out earlier.”

“Christ, Jon,” Martin stopped suddenly, obviously shocked. Jon slid to a stop several paces ahead of him, sending him a curious look.

“That’s not normal, you know,” Martin continued, pressing forward again but still obviously rattled. “I mean, I knew you’d been in there for quite some time now, but I had no idea you needed me to pull you out  _ this  _ badly. Otherwise, I might have just made you stay back and take a nap instead.”

Jon waved him off. “There’s no need for you to concern yourself with my sleeping habits Martin, really. I’m fully capable of regulating myself, thank you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and thankfully letting the issue drop at that. “So...what were you and Basira talking about, anyway?”

“Oh, uh,”  _ You _ .

Something caused Jon to stop just short of saying it aloud. He frowned.

“Nothing of interest. Work.” There, that sounded just boring enough to keep Martin from broaching the subject further.  _ He _ didn’t need to know that the only reason Jon had come along so willingly, was because Basira had spent the ten minutes prior guilting him into agreeing.

“Right,” Martin looked unimpressed anyway. “Listen, Jon, I know that look on you. That you get whenever you don’t--” Martin cut himself off, letting a long breath puff out slowly through his cheeks. When he spoke again, his voice was level, “Fine, fine. It doesn’t matter, it’s none of my business anyways. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“What?” Martin shot him a surprised look.

“Make small talk. It’s rather pointless: if you have something you want to say then I’ll be happy to listen, but if you’re just talking to fill silence then don’t bother yourself.”

“Oh. Is that all,” Martin let out a small, humorless chuckle, turning to look distinctly away from Jon. He winced. “Gosh you know, you can be so  _ much _ sometimes. Totally insufferable, actually, if you put your mind to it.”

Martin took in a sharp breath, exhaled. “Sorry, sorry, that was rude. I suppose I should just be glad you agreed to come along at all...I won’t try and force any more than that.”

Jon could feel the sharp response on his tongue, that yes perhaps if they both remained quiet they could get through this pointless hour all the quicker. At the last moment, he bit down on his lower lip, holding the words back.

If Basira’s observation was correct, Martin was only doing all of this anyway because he was concerned with Jon’s wellbeing. Which was a noble, but definitely somewhat hopeless pursuit. And yet here he was, already having cut their conversation short twice through his own rudeness.

It occurred to Jon suddenly, that he was being something of a jackass.

“So,” Jon began again, folding his hands together in front of him as they walked. He did his best to sound apologetic, shooting Martin side-glances. “Where are you taking us, then?”

Martin shrugged in the corner of his vision. “There’s a small park down the street, a bit out of the ways but it’s got a good duck pond. Right by the street too, so there aren’t many insects. It’s pretty quiet, most of the time. I go there on my breaks sometimes to write po…” Martin stopped abruptly, flushing and suddenly looking a bit embarrassed. “To write poetry,” he eventually finished quietly.

“Hm,” was all Jon said. “A bit far off, isn’t it? Oh, ah, not to say that’s an issue,” he amended quickly. He didn’t want Martin thinking he was complaining about dragging him out here again.

“Oh, well, actually we aren’t too far out now. Just around the block up there.”

The park itself, as Martin had mentioned, was small. Really, it was more a small patch of grass breaking apart the brick and concrete than anything. A small body of water was dug out in the middle and there were several iron benches sat around the perimeter, facing either inwards or towards the street. A solitary duck floated along the glassy surface of the water.

All things said though, it was rather peaceful.

Martin led them towards a street-facing bench that was pressed a little further into the interior of the “park” than the others, but at the last moment, Jon lightly grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“Jon? What’s--”

“Don’t sit there.” The reaction had been kneejerk, and it took Jon a couple of moments for his thoughts to catch up. He blinked. “The...the woman over there just had a bird relieve itself on her here a minute ago. Some got on the bench.” Without looking up, he nodded vaguely to the right, towards the receding form of a roughly middle-aged woman who was holding a light pink shawl at arms-length from her, looking quite put out.

“Ah,” Martin’s eyes slid to the bench, where a glob of white was smeared across the middle of the bench. “Well, that could have ended...poorly. Good catch, I didn’t even notice.” Martin shook his head, moving towards an adjacent sitting area, this time scouring the whole thing twice over before cautiously lowering himself down.

As Jon took his place alongside him, he noticed Martin was still sitting rather stiffly as far off the edge of the bench as possible. Every few seconds or so, he would glance down at it accusingly, as if more bird poop were going to suddenly materialize beneath them. It was kind of endearing, actually, in an odd little way.

“Don’t worry, this one’s clean. Or well, as much as any public bench is capable of being,” Jon said quickly, schooling his face. He hadn’t even noticed when the slight grin had taken residence there.

The assurance seemed to help Martin relax back a bit, anyways.

“Alright, here I am. Outside and away from any work I could be doing. What now?” Jon folded his hands in his lap. He’d hoped to sound curious, but the words had come out as accusing again. He frowned to himself.

Martin didn’t seem to pay it any mind, though. “I guess we just...talk?”

Jon sighed. “You dragged me all the way out here, to...talk. Something we easily could have done back in the institute.”

“Sure? I mean we could, I don’t know, feed the duck?” Martin glanced behind him. The duck continued to bob across the water apathetically. “Sorry,” he sighed, sending Jon a tired look. “I’m not used to taking my lunch breaks with anyone. When I come here, it’s usually on my own. I’ll, hm, sit and enjoy the fresh air mostly, do some people-watching, write some...and write.”

“Well...I suppose there are worse places you could have dragged me out to,” Jon took in a breath, glancing around. They were the only ones in the “park”, although a decent stream of people moved along the street just outside their little enclosure, the foot traffic increased by the lunch hour. “It is rather peaceful,” he admitted.

“Well, I’m...glad?” Martin sighed, and Jon looked over in time to see him run a hand shakily through his hair.

Martin had no idea what to do. When he’d come up with the plan to get Jon out of the office this morning, he’d only been thinking about getting him to  _ take a break from work _ for once in his life. Martin could tell the archives, everything, had been getting to Jon lately and he just wanted him to feel...better. So if that meant taking him to the disused square of sod he sometimes spent his breaks in, then so be it. But he hadn’t really planned this far ahead, and now things were getting awkward, and oh god why had he thought this was going to be a good idea Jon  _ hated _ being--

Jon shook his head, determinedly setting his gaze to the folded hands in his lap. Without even realizing, he’d accidentally tread into someone else’s thoughts again. He scowled. Martin deserved more respect for his privacy than that. And it wasn’t his place to pry.

The concern for Jon’s own health had been so... _ intense _ in Martin’s thoughts though, that it was a bit touching.

“So, um--”

“Well--”

They both started, then fell immediately silent. Martin’s cheeks tinted slightly as he fumbled with his hands, “No, no you go first.”

“Right, well, um...I was going to ask if there were anything in particular you wanted to talk about? I suppose you did manage to get me all the way out here, we may as well...enjoy each other’s company.”

Martin paused in his fumbling long enough to snort and glance down at the space between them. “Really? I thought you hated ‘pointless conversations’ or whatever.”

“Oh come on Martin, honestly I’m not  _ that _ disagreeable, I was just,” Jon stopped, taking a moment to soften his tone, “Sorry. I hadn’t meant to be so blunt earlier. Really. I’m just, well, I’m just a bit  _ tired _ . And as a result, crabby. Neither of which are your fault.” He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting the air puff back out slowly. “For what it’s worth, I do think this all has done me...well, quite a bit of good, if I’m being honest. I suppose I should thank you but, the least I can do is humor you a bit of small talk.”

The expression on Martin’s face surprised Jon a bit: touched, with a soft smile spreading his face. “Anyways,” Jon continued, looking away quickly before the warmth in Martin’s eyes began to spread through to him too thoroughly, “The question stands: anything you particularly wish to discuss? Or, hm, simply talk about?”

It took Martin a moment to respond. “Uh, yeah, sure? Yeah,” Martin blinked the misty look from his eyes, refocusing them back on Jon. “Well, first off, thanks. For the apology? The...just, thanks. And..”

“And?” Jon raised an eyebrow.

“I did have a question of sorts, actually. If you’re feeling up for it, that is.”

“What is it?” After that whole speech about opening himself up to casual conversation, Jon really hoped Martin’s question wasn’t going to be anything too personal.

“Earlier, with that woman, how did you know? That she got pooed on by a bird, I mean. And about the bench. You were behind me, there was no way you could have seen her leaving.  _ or _ the bench, for that matter.”

“Oh, that one’s simple,” he sighed, a bit relieved. “I just...Knew. That you shouldn’t. And about what had happened. It’s those bits of information that will just sort of conveniently pop into my head on occasion. Been happening to me more lately, actually,” Jon screwed his mouth shut, “This shouldn’t be news to you though.”

Martin blinked, baffled. “What? Oh wait, you don’t mean your…” he lowered his voice to an almost comedic whisper, leaning in slightly, “ _ Spooky eye powers _ ?”

Jon snorted, unable to contain a small chuckle. “You make it sound like it’s some sort of disease.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, that was probably pretty rude. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up that way.”

“No, no, I’m the one who pointed it out. And yes, it was my....‘eye powers’. As I said, it’s been happening more frequently as of late. Even when I don’t want it to. Or realize. It’s a bit inconvenient most days, actually,” Jon trailed off, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek.

“Now, hold on a moment. You mean that just by being generally close to that woman, or the bench or whatever, you were able to just  _ tell _ what had happened? Like you read her mind?”

“It’s not quite that simple, but in effect...yes. If that makes it easier for you to understand.” Jon risked a glance at Martin, gauging his reaction to what was apparently surprising news. But he just had this awe-struck look on his face: like a kid who’d just been offered a new toy. It sent that annoyingly contagious warmth spreading through Jon again.

“That’s...sorry, I know this is probably supposed to be serious and terrifying and all that but, that’s sort of really cool. I mean  _ come on _ , who hasn’t daydreamed about mind-reading?”

“Elias,” Jon said humorlessly.

“Can you try it on other people? On purpose, I mean,” Martin asked eagerly, peering out at the street just past the park.

“I suppose I could...try. I haven’t actually attempted to interpret someone’s ‘thoughts’ on purpose. Most times, they’ll just come to me at random. But I suppose...I don’t think it would be too difficult.” Jon nodded to himself. “Yes, if you’d like, I could try.”

“That’s great,” Martin beamed, “Like...oh, that woman there! With the top bun and the lace-up boots. She looks interesting,” he glanced sheepishly at Jon. “Oh, nothing too personal. Obviously. Just hmm...does she have any pets?”

Jon cocked an eyebrow. “Martin, are you certain about this?”

“I think so, yeah,” Martin said, “Just like I said, nothing too personal.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” Jon answered honestly. “I can’t make any guarantees as to what I might end up bringing out. There’s no real good way to sort between surface-level and private thoughts.”

Martin sighed, turning away with a barely hidden look of disappointment. “Yeah...yeah, I suppose you’ve got a point there. I wouldn’t want to be invasive.” He hummed lowly. Jon sighed.

“She’s got three cats,” he relented finally. “Paprika, Coffee, and Sir Fluffington.” Jon snorted down a chuckle. “Lord, what an awful name for a cat. The poor thing.”

“Oh my god, you’re joking,” Martin said around a half-smile, “There’s no way.”

Jon grimaced. “I agree. She could have at least had the decency to name it something a bit more reasonable. It’s...black and white, apparently. Perhaps Oreo…?”

“No, no I meant I can’t believe you just figured out the names of that woman’s cats, just by looking at her,” Martin said between breathy laughs, “But really, Jon, Oreo? For your sake and the animal’s, I hope you never get pets.”

“Oh come on, it’s a decent name,” Jon pouted, “Much better than ‘Sir Fluffington’.” He wrinkled his nose. “She calls him ‘Fluffy Meow’ most days, though.”

“No, no, I want to get back to the name thing. Do you realize how many ‘Oreo’s there must be in the world, because of people like you? Honestly, I bet they’re all black and white, too. Or brown, maybe. Awful thing to do to an animal, if you ask me.” Martin shook his head in mock-disappointment.

“In my defense, the name Oreo has consistently made it to the top twenty among popular pet names since November of 1997,” Jon supplied, “Among both cats and dogs. Currently, there are nearly three hundred cats named Oreo in England alone. So you see,  _ Martin _ , it’s a perfectly fine name for an animal. And certainly worlds better than  _ Fluffington _ ,” he scoffed. “There’s only one of those.”

After a lengthy pause, Jon peered questioningly at Martin, only to find him staring again.

“Jon, did you just  _ brain google _ the statistics for cats named Oreo.”

“Yes,” Jon said hesitantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m sorry, did I just what now?”

“Sorry to be blunt, but might I ask why you’ve never shared how  _ cool _ your spooky eye powers were until now? Like, can you just look things up in your head? How does it work, can you apply filters? Like, you know, how search engines do.”

Jon let out a deep sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “So I heard you correctly, then.  _ Yes _ Martin, I can run a quick search on much of the limitless knowledge the human race has compiled. But so can you. Right now. On your  _ mobile _ .”

Martin looked baffled a moment, then his face lit up, and he began digging around in his pockets. “Oh yeah!” He pulled out his phone, checking the screen. Jon could just about make out his wallpaper, reflected back on the smooth surface of his glasses. It looked like a picture of a cow in a field.

Martin had started fiddling around on his phone, so Jon just sighed, leaning back into the bench. Carefully, he crossed one leg over the other as he watched the woman in the top bun and boots disappear around the block across the street.

He had also managed to locate the fact that she was a widow of three years, now. Her late husband had been a victim of pancreatic cancer. Jon had...chosen not to share that bit of information with Martin. God knows he was doing his best to forget it himself.

“Here we go, top pet names for this year,” Martin said triumphantly, dragging Jon’s attention back. “And...oh come on now, that’s totally cheating. Oreo is number twenty, exactly. Hardly counts for a ‘top twenty’ list.”

“It counts,” Jon posed.

“Does not,” Martin pocketed his phone, scooting back a ways until he hit the smooth stone backing of the bench. “Alright, pop quiz. What’s the fifteenth most popular cat name.”

Jon quirked an eyebrow. “You aren’t being serious?”

“I’m curious if you’ll know.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “Smokey, if you’re interested.”

Martin sat up suddenly, looking impressed again. “No way, that’s right.”

Jon peered at him behind his glasses. “I thought you were curious, why’d you ask if you already knew the answer?”

“Wanted to see if the website was right. Or you too, I suppose, although at this point I’m not sure why I’m bothering fact-checking the omniscient knowledge supplied by something whose whole purpose it is to  _ know _ things.”

That was... certainly one way to describe Beholding.

“Anyways,” Martin said rather awkwardly, returning his attention to the street, “Want to go again?”

Jon shrugged. How much more depressing could one’s thoughts get than chronic illness? Might as well. Besides Martin...really seemed to be enjoying himself. And Jon couldn’t claim to dislike the current atmosphere either. “Sure. Anything in particular you want to know? Or anyone?”

“Hmm,” Martin glanced around, considering, “Oh, there’s a good one, I think. See? She’s just stepped out of the deli across the street, to the left a ways. What’s she in such a rush for?” Jon followed where Martin was gesturing, eyes landing on a younger woman with long, ginger hair. She was carrying several bags of wrapped meats and walking rather briskly in the opposite direction of them.

Jon smirked. “She’s worried someone will spot her. That she hasn’t been sneaky enough buying all the sausage she’s got tucked away in those bags.”

“Why?” Martin asked, completely baffled. “It’s just a deli. I think I’ve even stopped in there a few times myself. They’re not very good, actually. Much better place a couple miles from here.”

“She’s vegan,” Jon shook his head, “Or at least, she’s supposed to be. Her wife thinks she is, at least. Her partner, Amber, she was raised vegan and apparently that was a condition of their marriage. Amber believes strongly against eating anything with a heartbeat. Lydia, the woman we just saw, had to cut out meat entirely. Apparently that hasn’t been agreeing with her lately, and Amber’s out of town this weekend on a conference. So she’s playing some catch-up.”

“Oh. My god,” Martin said, awe-struck. “That’s fantastic. I mean,” he fumbled, “Obviously the lying to your spouse part’s not so great. But if it has to be anything, I think secretly frying sausage is maybe the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Or ever. Okay, okay, next one...how about that guy over there, leaning against the tree in the navy blazer?”

Jon squinted. “His name is Douglas, he works...as a rubbish collector. Let’s see...oh, he was in a punk band when he was seventeen...until they broke up at the end of uni when he was twenty-three. His mother is an accountant, his father is...unemployed. His mum calls it ‘retired’ but everyone in the family knows that’s really just code for ‘disappointment’. He hasn’t held a job in years, not since he was discharged from the police for a broken leg that never got the chance to heal properly. He still has to use a cane when he walks.”

Jon jolted suddenly, barely managing to pull himself out of Douglas’s mind when he realized what he was saying had edged towards the depressive again.

“Hm, that’s...interesting. I suppose. Probably could have done without the details about his family but...win some you lose some I guess?” Martin folded his hands in his lap, then unfolded them. Then placed them firmly on his thighs, palms down. He looked a bit uncomfortable. “Hey, uh, Jon--”

“That woman waiting to cross the street, in the red, her name is Margot Taylor. She graduated from secondary school a year early but never went to uni. She works as an event coordinator now, just finished planning a wedding several days ago, but she’s run out of commissions for the foreseeable future. She’s on her way to a potential client's office now, actually. They’ve employed her before, and she’s going to ask for work.”

“Jon,” Martin said firmly, “I really don’t think--”

“Alissa Lewis, forty-three years old, she’s standing at the mouth of an alley about a block down from us. Last week, she had to flush her daughter’s first pet down the toilet. A goldfish named Pear, her daughter’s idea, that had gotten sick. They’d had the fish for three years, six months, two days, and four and a half hours before it finally stopped moving. She held her daughter in her arms as they cried.”

“Jon I don’t think this is such a good idea anymore. This doesn’t feel...right. This just feels like snooping,” Martin fidgeted beside him. “I really think we should stop.”

“Hugh Clark, works at the animal shelter. Six feet and five inches tall. He’s wanted to shave off that beard of his for months now, it’s so damn itchy. Not to mention it makes him look unkempt all the time. His mother hates it as well, keeps sending him shaving razors in the mail, annoying old bird. But Lisa seems to like it so much, she’s been finding excuses to kiss his cheek more lately anyways, so he’ll put up with it. It’s worth it, for her.”

“ _ Jon _ , can you hear me? Snap out of it. These are getting,” Martin paused, “ _ Really _ personal. I’m not comfortable hearing any of this. Please, just stop.”

“Amelia Young, twenty-nine, she’s got long, straight black hair that falls well past her shoulders--”

“ _ Jon  _ can you  _ hear _ me?” Martin’s voice was closer now. “You’re seriously starting to scare me.”

“She wants to get it cut, but doesn’t trust her mother anywhere near a pair of scissors and god only knows how terrible and choppy it turned out the last time she tried doing it herself. It’s not that she can’t afford to make an appointment at the salon--”

“Jon  _ please _ ,” Martin all but whimpered.

“It’s just that she doesn’t like phone calls much. And the place she usually goes to won’t take walk-ins. But she really shouldn’t ask her mother to make another call for her, on account of her social anxiety regarding speaking on the phone. She’s holding it now, her phone. It’s firm under her fingers, and the glass is cool. Her palms are sweaty and she can already feel the tug of thick, bundles of nerves gnaw anxiously at her stomach and throat. She figured it would be easier to make the call, one simple phone call to make an appointment if she were in public. She’s wrong. It’s not. She’s pathetic.”

“Jon this is too much,” Martin’s voice cracked, betraying him, “Can you even hear me? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I got you started on this, I had no idea it’d get to you...like this. Please, just come back.”

Jon glanced over at Martin without really seeing him. “Martin Blackwood, twenty-nine, five-feet and eleven inches tall,” he began evenly.

For the first time, he noticed that Martin had drawn closer to him on the bench. Was grabbing his arm, desperately tugging at the sleeve, though he couldn’t actually feel it. His expression was fearful and yet he remained completely silent.

None of this registered in Jon’s mind, however, as he continued to speak. “He works full time at the Magnus Institute as an archival research assistant. But things have been...complicated lately. Things have been changing.”

Martin whimpered, but the sound didn’t reach Jon’s ears.

“Martin doesn’t like change very much. The new, the unknown, it scares him. Change has never meant anything good, especially not for him. But this time, his fears are not directed inward. Jon...this has all been so hard on him. Martin can see it, in the eye bags bruised purple from lack of sleep and the face edged with deep lines that carve a near-constant scowl.

“Everyone else has given up on the man. They only see what he’s becoming, but Martin eagerly looks past that. All he wants to do is to help. To be of some use to the subject of his attentions. There must be something he can do, to lighten the burden, at least. There has to be. To help, to do something other than just be scared all the time.

“He’s scared now, though. As he watches the archivist’s mouth run with thoughts that shouldn’t have been put to words. Scared he’ll say something they both regret. It’s not his fault, though, not really, that he’s lost control. It’s Martin’s. For pushing too far, prying too much.

“Stupid  _ stupid _ , how could he have thought this could end in _ anything _ other than catastrophe? He knew at the time this wasn’t a good idea, that he shouldn’t push the archivist. Had been explicitly warned not to do so, as if anything like this had ever ended pleasantly in the past. He knew it was wrong and yet he did anyway, and for wholly selfish reasons.

“Because, damn it, if Jon wasn’t stupidly pretty when he smiled. And that had been such a rare sight these days. It was an awful, horrible, egotistical reason, he knew. But Martin loved to see him laugh. To light up about something so inconsequential.

“It all had sent Martin’s heart buzzing up into his skull, twisting his throat about his lungs until he was all knotted. Jon was so attractive when he wasn’t scowling. Did he know that? Probably not. For how much he seemed to pick up on these days, Jon still wasn’t the most self-aware among them. He still somehow hadn’t managed to pick up on--”

For the first time in several long, terrible minutes, Jon came back to himself enough to realize what he was saying, and he paused.

His mouth felt like sandpaper. Jon swallowed thickly, painfully. When he spoke again, his words were hardly more than a whisper. “To pick up on the obvious crush Martin harbored for the man.”

Jon blinked. Everything was muggy and sluggish as he slowly snapped out of his own thoughts and he felt suddenly exhausted.

He all but collapsed, completely and totally spent. It felt like a part of his brain had been liquified, and it was all he could do to keep from falling over completely. Surprisingly, he didn’t slip from the bench, though: kept up by a firm weight sat sturdily against his side, holding him up in place. It took him several long, groggy seconds to realize that thing was Martin.

Martin, that...Jon was sure, certain that Martin had been the one to break him from that somewhat awful train of broached privacy. But how had...he just…

Jon squinted. The last few minutes were coming up a bit foggy.

“Martin, I...” he said weakly, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“Yes,” Martin squeaked, flinching. “Y-yeah, I’m here. Do you...a-are you okay? Do you need help or anything you--you look really pale Jon.”

“I’m fine, I--” Jon cut himself short, wincing as he tried to pull himself up. He hadn’t realized he’d been leaning into Martin’s shoulder so heavily. Jon wondered idly when that had started: during or after his...speech. “Extracting statements takes a lot out of me, is all. Although, I suppose that wasn’t a statement exactly, more of a...hmm.”

Jon tried shifting again, only to have Martin push down on one of his shoulders, keeping him firmly in place. His hand was warm, and solid.

Martin retracted it quickly. “Oh s-sorry! Just--try not to move around so much. It looks like it hurts a lot, so, um...just try not to strain yourself, alright?”

“Noted.” Jon let out something between a humorless laugh and a breathy sigh.

His head still felt full of static, so Jon hardly perceived the fact he’d begun to press his face closely into Martin’s shoulder. The soft fibers of the sweater he was wearing tickled Jon’s cheek and eyelids.

It was nice. Martin was warm, even through his thick sweater. He smelled of sweet shampoo and the sharp sodium tang that goes along with instant-noodle powder. Jon’s shoulders twitched at a silent chuckle. What a strange detail to pick up on. But it was so completely  _ Martin _ he found himself flooded by that inexplicable, warm feeling in his chest again.

A feeling that, for some reason, felt like it had a much more solid shape since his foray into Martin’s thoughts, for whatever that implied. For now he was still far too delirious to make heads or tails of the situation, and Martin felt far too comfortable against him to really care about much else.

\--

Jon must have drifted off at some point because when he opened his eyes again, it was well past sunset and the sky had turned a soft, hazy purple. A scattering of street lamps surrounding the small park had flickered to life while he dozed, casting the area in wan light and low visibility.

His head was still nestled against Martin’s shoulder, who had apparently failed to notice Jon rouse, as he was still scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

Curious, Jon peered down at the screen, nearly blinding himself with the contrast of the bright rectangle of light in the otherwise dim park. Martin appeared to be looking through an article about cats, and for some reason, that made Jon smile.

With some stiffness, but otherwise not too much difficulty, Jon raised himself into an upright position, going about unwrinkling his shirt.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Martin shifted, quickly clicking his phone off and shoving it in his pocket, leaving them in the dull glow of the street lamps. “Sorry, I probably should’ve roused you. I know I know, your hour was up probably....several hours ago. At least. But I didn’t want to disturb you! After that...er, after the  _ incident _ you looked like you might be sick if we tried moving you anywhere, and who knows how little sleep you’ve been running on as it stands.”

“No, no don’t worry yourself,” Jon said as he stretched his arms out in front of him with a small  _ pop _ . He sighed, letting them drop into his lap. “You had the right idea. I’ve needed a good nap for a while now, just wouldn’t admit it to myself.” Jon lifted a hand to his cheek. It was still warm from where it had been pressed against Martin, and he could feel the light ridges from the creases in Martin’s sleeve that had left indents in his face. A really good nap, then.

He sniffed, blinking slowly and willing the drowsy haze away from his vision. Jon hated to admit it, but this was more well-rested than he’d felt in a while. He wondered how long he’d been asleep. How long Martin had been forced to put up with him, not to mention.

“You must have been really out of it,” Martin said a bit sheepishly, “This bench isn’t the most comfortable spot for a rest.” He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“True. But you made quite a good pillow.” Jon rolled the shoulder that hadn’t been pressed against Martin, trying to get some of the stiffness out.

“O-oh,” Martin fumbled, and even in the fading light, Jon could see his cheeks flush a light pink. “T-that’s, ah, I mean, no problem? Happy to help.” His voice cracked on the last word, causing his blush to darken considerably.

“Martin,” Jon began with a sigh.

“Y-yes?”

“Do you…” his face fell into a slight frown as he concentrated on getting the words right in his head. Sleep had...definitely shed some clarity on their situation earlier, including...well. Everything was still a bit fuzzy.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier? Sorry, I suppose what I said?” Jon posed, attempting to sound as casual as possible.

Martin blanched, all the color in his face draining with alarming speed. “Oh god, I didn’t think you’d remembered any of that. A-at least I’d sort of hoped you wouldn’t. Oh, oh my god.”

“Martin.”

“Christ, Jon, I’m so sorry, I know there was a lot in there. Like  _ a lot _ that you  _ really _ never needed to hear, and I know I’m acting ridiculous and--and we have  _ real _ problems to be handling right now and you all can’t be dealing with someone who--”

“Martin, honestly, were you planning on putting words in my mouth again?” Jon huffed, shifting on the bench so he was better facing Martin. The memory of warmth still burned into his cheek. “It’s  _ alright _ . Really. You did nothing wrong. If anything, I’m the one who far overstepped my boundaries.”

Jon sighed, staring down at his hands as they folded and unfolded in his lap. “I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I suppose I’m just...I guess I’m saying that I’d like to make you an offer.”

“O-oh,” Martin shifted, hands folding tightly on his leg. As they were now, his knuckles nearly brushed Jon’s knee. “What is it?”

“I heard some...said some things that I had no right knowing. Personal...feelings.”

“R-right?”

“And I wanted you to know I’ll forget anything I said. I mean obviously, I’ll  _ know _ , but I won’t bring it up. We can pretend it never happened. As if you hadn’t been forced into any of it. If that’s...what you want.”

“I suppose that depends,” Martin took a sharp breath in and out. “How much do you remember?”

“I could say it wasn’t all of it, but...that would be a blatant lie,” Jon sighed, “I remember everything and...and more. That I didn’t get the chance to say out loud.”

“O-oh,” Martin looked like he might be turning a bit green now. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose fractionally, perched almost precariously on the edge. Martin left them there, not seeming to notice. “How much...did you see then?”

“Honestly, if you’d rather we ignored this whole incident--I’d rather you didn’t feel obligated to open up about anything too personal simply because of a mistake I made.”

Martin chuckled breathily. “You keep talking like it’s your fault. Yet you said yourself, b-back there. That I was the one who pushed you into doing something you told me was a bad idea, in no uncertain terms. It’s not right, getting into people’s heads and...and not just when it ends in having all my secrets revealed. It was a bad idea from the start.

“So I...well I suppose the least I could do is not make you pretend like you didn’t see some things you maybe shouldn’t have,” he continued, swallowing thickly, “What’s done is done, I think it would just make things more awkward, otherwise. Oh, not to say we have to talk about it or anything. If you don’t want to,” Martin trailed off awkwardly, squirming a bit. He looked anxious, and it didn’t take a ‘brain google’ to know exactly which particular personal revelation he was referring to.

“Very well,” Jon elected, not wanting to press Martin.

After a beat of silence, Martin shifted. “You said you found...other things? While you were rummaging around in there? I’m curious...what did you..?”

“A lot,” Jon admitted. He was still a bit unsure of how to parse all the information he’d unwittingly dragged from Martin, although thankfully a good deal of it was useless facts and statistics. The name of his primary school, the birthdays of all his relatives, the exact time he woke up this morning. “There was a lot of poetry in there.”

“Oh...oh god.” Martin flushed, hands pressing against his face, poorly covering a mortified expression. “God that--that’s so embarrassing, and definitely  _ not _ meant for viewing. By anybody. Ever.” He paused. “You know what, I think I’m going to take you up on that offer after all. Forget any of my writing that you might have found in there, it’s all rubbish.”

“Oh, come on now,” Jon waved him off, a bit exasperated. “I’m not a huge fan of anything that’s not prose, but your work isn’t... _ awful _ . Besides, I’d say it’s more than my business, seeing as most of your recent work has been about me anyways.” Jon stopped abruptly, blinking once, twice. Running his tongue quickly along chapped lips. Shit. “I…didn’t know that until just now, actually.”

Martin’s face had slid another shade darker, and his hands had extended to cover his eyes now as well, obscuring his whole face. “Can we  _ not _ .”

“No, I’m curious,” Jon peered at Martin curiously. “Do you really write poetry about me that often? That’s,” and now it was his turn to look away bashfully, chest prickling, “That’s actually rather charming.”

“I thought you hated anything that wasn’t prose,” Martin’s voice was muffled behind his hands, but that didn’t conceal the obvious humiliation in his tone.

“Not just the poetry, either you...really think about me quite often, don’t you?” Jon ran his tongue along his lower lip again, eyes darting between the bench and the ground as he thought. Or rather, tried to keep to his own thoughts, rather desperately, as he attempted to sort all this out.

Martin was just so... _ warm _ , mind and body, and most of that warmth seemed to be focused solely on Jon. He’d seen the patience Martin allotted him, felt the worry for his sake, been battered by that same inexplicable warmth that sometimes plagued Jon himself.

“You care about me, quite a lot, as it would seem,” Jon’s mouth felt dry. He swallowed, but it did no good to still the racing in his heart. The electric ball of nerves that had begun to sizzle in his stomach migrated to his throat, popping off his tongue like sparklers at the words rolling around in his head. Words he knew he had to say, but desperately wanted not to. He was terrible at confrontation.

But...after today, he felt he at least owed as much to Martin.

“Was it true, what I said while I was...speaking for you. Are you attracted to me, Martin?” Jon sent Martin a furtive glance. He knew the answer, but it was polite to ask anyways.

“Yes.” His answer came almost as soon as Jon had finished speaking, catching him quite off guard.

Martin huffed, forcing his hands away from his face, eyes set very firmly anywhere that weren’t Jon’s. He sighed. “I mean, I suppose there’s no point in denying anything to you now but, well...yes, Jon, I find you very attractive. And I do care about you. A lot, actually. And fret quite a bit as well, especially these days with all this craziness about rituals and fears and whatever else has been going on. Which is why I was so insistent on getting you out today but...sorry, I know that’s no excuse.” Martin chuckled humorlessly. “Feel free to start laughing at me whenever. Or, better yet, avoid me entirely while pretending none of this ever happened.”

Martin winced away, mouth screwed shut in something between a pout and a frown. It cause Jon’s chest to lurch uncomfortably.

“Martin,” Jon kept his voice soft as he reached out, resting his hand over Martin’s. “I’m not laughing. And I don’t plan on avoiding you, either.” After a long moment, Martin looked up to meet Jon’s gaze fully, looking ashamed of himself. It made Jon’s chest clench. “In fact I...I think I may have experienced rather similar feelings about...about you.”

The blood rushing in Jon’s ears was so deafening, he barely made out Martin’s response, which came shaky and incredulous. “Alright, feel free to wake me up whenever, I must have fallen asleep along with you on the bench.”

“Martin, I’m being serious,” Jon said, a bit hurt Martin would wave off his confession so easily. “It took me poking around in your head to realize it, but I can confidently say that what you’ve been going through these past several months matches my own feelings. I simply hadn’t been able to place them until this afternoon.”

“Really?” Martin paused, allowing a bit of hope into his expression.

“Of course.” Jon placed his other hand on top of Martin’s, squeezing them together lightly. Martin sniffed once, and before he had a chance to register it Jon’s hands had been freed and he was being wrapped up in a tight hug. It enveloped him in that comforting warmth, surrounded by the sharp-sweet smell of Martin’s sweater. After a moment, Jon returned the gesture.

“I’m still convinced I’m dreaming, just so y’know.”

Jon let slip an exasperated sigh and felt Martin responding chuckle rumbled against his shoulder. “Honestly, Martin,” he said huffily, but Jon was smiling softly again.

When they pulled apart a minute later, the sky had blackened completely, and for the first time, Jon began to seriously consider what time it was.

“Well, so much for a short break,” Jon sighed.

“Yeah, again, sorry about that,” Martin sounded sheepish. Regardless a wide, dopey smile was plastered across his face. Jon imagined, with a brief twinge of self-consciousness, his expression must look much the same.

“Suppose we may as well head back all the same.” Jon pulled himself up, offering a hand to Martin.

Martin rubbed his back with one hand, wincing. “Gosh, that bench is really uncomfortable.”

“Now it’s my turn to apologize for trapping you there so long.”

“D-don’t worry about it,” Martin waved him off, suddenly flustered. “I didn’t mind, really, it was sort of nice? Yeah,” he stuttered awkwardly as they left the park. “Besides, you were just saying you hadn’t slept in...gosh, how long?”

Jon thought about it a moment. “I’m not sure I want to know, exactly. So let’s just go with at least a day, and leave it at that.”

“You’ve really got to do something about your sleeping habits,” Martin sighed. “Though I shouldn’t be asking for too much, you’ve given me enough for today. More than enough, actually.”

“Good. Because I intend on getting back to work once we get back to the archives, now that I’ve got some energy back,” Jon said, smiling at the little exasperated huff that drew out of Martin. He shifted closer to Martin as they walked, leaning casually against his side. He could practically hear Martin’s heartbeat mirrored in his own.

“I suppose we’ll just have to take our time getting back then, won’t we?” Martin stated matter-of-factly. Jon’s heart skipped a beat as he suddenly felt Martin’s fingers intertwine with his own between them, his palm soft and warm against Jon’s. “At least it’s nice out,” Martin continued, managing to sound a bit breathless.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

They walked back to the institute in silence after that, close enough Jon wasn’t bothered in the slightest by the slight chill that had settled in the air.

Martin was content. Nervous, more than a little actually, and very worried his palms were going to be too sweaty. But still, content. He was just now getting over the shock of Jon confessing to  _ him _ his feelings. It was numbing. The fact that this, any of this, was really happening. He thought his heart might just about leap out of his chest at the thought. So he was going to let himself  _ enjoy this _ for once dammit, awkward hand-holding aside.

Jon smiled softly at Martin’s thoughts, the deep endearment tied in with them striking something deep in his own chest. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel too guilty about peeping in someone else’s head. Just this once, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out a bit longer than I'd expected, but here was my first attempt at a JonMartin from back in June!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at Sweet--Bun and as always thanks for reading!


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